


Conversations

by Lyledebeast



Category: Cloud Atlas (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Infidelity, Light Angst, M/M, Oral Sex, Polyamorous Character, lots of coffee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 02:35:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3192077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyledebeast/pseuds/Lyledebeast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robert Frobisher and Rufus Sixsmith are married, but living in different cities.  It is Christmas Eve, and Sixsmith gets a troubling phone call from Robert's brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first multi-chapter fic! Thanks to gascon-en-exil on Tumblr for beta-ing and French-picking.

It is the morning of Christmas Eve, and Rufus Sixsmith is trying to look forward to his first Christmas in four years without Robert Frobisher. Indeed, he has not seen Robert since helping him move his belongings to Marseille in January. Robert had tried, somewhat half-heartedly, to convince him that the distance would not make a difference in their relationship, but Sixsmith always had doubts. Perhaps unsurprisingly, he turned out to be right. It was the only thing in their relationship that he had been right about, Sixsmith thought bitterly. He believed that after two years of monogamy, Robert had changed. Then, only a few months after moving to Lyon with Sixsmith, he revealed that he was having an affair with Jacques, the composer with whom he was writing a new film score. He said he couldn’t bear being dishonest; Sixsmith rather wished he had tried harder. That affair had fizzled before the collaboration was even finished, and it seemed in retrospect that Sixsmith took more comfort from that than he should have.  
While Robert’s small family, particularly his brother Sebastian, was wild about the idea of marriage, Robert himself had always shown more interest in the legal benefits than in the romantic ones. Sixsmith expected to spend the rest of his life with the man he loved; Robert wanted to entrust his health and, more importantly for him, his work to someone he could rely on to do what he wanted. Robert moved into his own flat three months after the wedding. He said that he needed more room and time to work without crowding Sixsmith, who was settling into his busy schedule at the Université de Lyon as a lecturer in Chemistry. Sixsmith suspected that he wanted more room to have lovers without his husband getting jealous, a charge he never made and that Robert neither confirmed nor denied.  
He never dreamed at the time that he would making plans with another man this Christmas Eve. Sixsmith met Pierre* at a new faculty party shortly after the start of his first semester, and they saw quite a lot of each other since they lectured in the same building. While the friendship between them came very easily, Sixsmith was unsure how to handle Pierre’s attraction to him. Once Robert had left the city, however, he finally gave in to his curiosity. At first, it was only about sex, which Sixsmith found wonderfully freeing. His life with Robert had become so fraught with anxiety and suspicion that sex had lost much of its appeal. Pierre was different from Robert in many ways: polite, conventional, practical, and, to Sixsmith’s mind, moral. He had backed off immediately when Sixsmith told him he was married, and Sixsmith was hard pressed to convince him that the distance between himself and his husband, both literally and emotionally, was enough for him to start dating other people. It took a lot of shared confidences about Robert’s promiscuity, and a little bit of exaggeration, to win Pierre’s sympathy. Indeed, sympathy, the thing Robert refused to give Sixsmith, proved to be the thing he loved most from Pierre. After a few short months of dating, he found himself involved in a relationship.  
On his way to the market, Sixsmith calls Pierre to finalize their plans for the evening.  
“Hello, Rufus.”  
“How are you this morning?”  
“Oh, so busy. But I’ll be ready for you this evening. At seven.”  
“Remind me again why we’re eating so early.”  
“Because we have to save room for the feast after midnight, silly. I can’t believe you’ve been in France for two years and have yet to experience a réveillon.”  
“Well, I expect you to show me everything I’ve been missing. And to make sure I don’t embarrass myself at mass.”  
“You will be an English Protestant at a French Christmas mass. I promise expectations will be low. But don’t worry; I won’t let anyone hurt you.”  
“Do you want me to bring a wine for tonight?”  
“Well, hmm. Do you think you can be trusted to choose a nice Beaujolais?”  
“I think so.”  
“Not nouveau.”  
“Pierre, what do you take me for?”  
“Okay. You bring the wine and I’ll have everything else ready. I can’t wait to see you!”  
“Me too. See you soon.”  
As Sixsmith hangs up his phone, he notices the missed call from Sebastian Frobisher. He had barely spoken to Sebastian since the fiasco of last Christmas in Cambridge. The conversations they had were similar to his short calls to Robert: brief and full of potent silences, serving only the purpose of verifying that both parties were still alive and doing well. However, Sixsmith knows that Christmas is important to Sebastian, and returns the call from the market parking lot, expecting to exchange a quick holiday greeting before picking up the wine.

He can tell as soon as Sebastian answers that something was wrong. His voice is too high-pitched and anxious.  
“Happy Christmas, Sebastian.”  
“Oh, Happy Christmas to you too. Have you happened to hear from Bobby recently?”  
Sixsmith starts at that; it has been so long he’s forgotten about Sebastian’s childhood name for Robert. “He isn’t with you?”  
“Umm, no. No, I haven’t heard anything from him in almost a month, and I’ve been calling him and leaving messages, but he hasn’t returned any of my calls. When was the last time you spoke to him?”  
“I don’t know. More than a month, probably.”  
“Did he sound alright to you?”  
“What do you mean?”  
“You know what I mean. Did he sound sad?”  
“Well, he sounded a little tired, I suppose, but I assume he’s been working hard on scores. That’s what he moved down there to do; I hope that’s what it is.”  
“Yes, I hope so too. He sounds tired when he talks to me too. Maybe I make him tired, because he never talks to me for very long. I don’t know. I’m worried, Sixsmith, why wouldn’t he want to talk to us?”  
“I don’t know, Sebastian.”  
“Do you know if he’s seeing anyone?”  
“That’s hardly something he’s likely to tell me.”  
“I don’t mean is he fucking anyone, Sixsmith. I believe we can guess the answer to that question. I mean a therapist. He’s all alone down there; what if his depression comes back? Does he even have good friends in Marseille?”  
Sixsmith begins to feel frustrated. None of his conversations with Robert touched on any of this, yet here Sebastian was expecting him to keep as close a watch on his brother as he had when they were living together. He massages his forehead with his fingers and takes a deep breath, trying not to raise his voice.  
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Robert. If your brother wanted me as his caretaker, he’d still be here.”  
Sebastian, however, takes no such precautions. “I have been trying to ask Bobby to no avail, Sixsmith,” he shouts. “I’m at my wits end, and if you don’t know how he is . . .” Sebastian’s voice breaks. “If you can’t tell me how he is, and he won’t talk to me . . . then I don’t know what to do. I would go down if I could, but I can’t leave Bill alone with the girls and no car. But I won’t be able to relax until I know he’s okay.”  
“Well, do you want me to drive down?”  
Sebastian sighs. “I can’t tell you what to do, Sixsmith. I know you’ve been through a lot with Robert, and I’m sure you haven’t been as close since he moved. But I know you still love him. You must. You took better care of him than even I could, and if you aren’t worried about him too, then you’ve changed more than would have thought possible in the past year.” Sebastian’s voice begins to quiver slightly at the end, and Sixsmith feels a rush of pity mixed with something else: guilt.  
“Okay, Sebastian. Look, I’ll try to call him too, and if I get through I’ll try to get him to call you. That’s all I can promise. Alright?”  
There is an uncomfortable pause in which Sixsmith fears Sebastian will be disappointed. When he answers, though, he sounds merely resigned. “Thank you Sixsmith. I do appreciate it, really. And I’m sorry for screaming at you, but you know. He’s my brother.”  
“That’s okay, I understand. I’ll be in touch.”  
After hanging up, Sixsmith feels suddenly both exhausted and agitated. He sits in his car for long minutes trying to process what he had just heard. He had experienced Robert’s depression several times when they were living together. For weeks he would remain listless and unmotivated. When he wasn’t at work, he spent most of his time shut up in his bedroom. He had long before given up on medications, saying that they hurt his ability to concentrate, and that if he couldn’t write music his life wasn’t worth anything anyway. Sixsmith worried, but he was always able to make sure Robert ate, left the house on occasion, and spent his waking hours in a clean, organized space. Eventually he would be alright again, if only temporarily. Sebastian often told Sixsmith that it had been much worse before he had moved in with Robert. Years ago, he had even been institutionalized briefly due to suicide attempts.  
The more Sixsmith thinks about this, the more anxious he becomes. He finds Robert’s name in his list of contacts and lets the phone ring for long minutes. Robert had refused to set up the answering service, citing his failure to ever remember to check his messages. Even though he isn’t surprised Robert doesn’t pick up—if he doesn’t want to talk to his brother, why would he want to talk to his estranged husband?

The tension between them had come to a head last Christmas when they both returned to Cambridge to spend the holiday with Sebastian, his husband Bill, and their two daughters. Over dinner, as Robert’s answers to questions about his life had become more vague and reluctant, Sebastian had become more persistent and accusing until Bill ushered the two little girls away from the table in something like panic. Then, Robert admitted to everything that Sixsmith most feared. Not only did he have other lovers: he wasn’t sorry about it. He told Sebastian, “Whatever you and Sixsmith may have tricked yourselves into thinking, I’ve always been this way, and I always will be. Two years with just one lover haven’t made me a different person; I’m as surprised by that fluke as anyone.”  
At that, Sixsmith had found himself unable to maintain his silence any further: “I hadn’t realized this was all about what you wanted. I thought maybe I had made some difference.”  
Robert had just stared at his hands in silence for a long moment before answering. Sighing deeply, he said: “Sixsmith, you had girlfriends for longer than we’ve been together. Tell me, did I make you gay? No. If those women don’t make you bisexual, how do two years of fucking only you, out of the thirty-three for which I’ve been alive, make me the monogamous type?”  
Sixsmith hadn’t had an answer for that question at the time, and he was too angry to consider it in a rational light. They got through the rest of that visit alright, but when they were driving Robert’s things from his flat in Lyon to the house he was leasing in Marseille Sixsmith wasn’t able to stay away from the topic. Robert had told him that the south of France would provide far more opportunities for a young composer to work in the film industry, but Sixsmith had refused to believe that the distance from him hadn’t also played a role in his decision.  
“If you’re so confident that you’ll have so many new possibilities there, why would you still want to be attached to someone so far away?”  
“I’ve told you before, Sixsmith,” Robert snapped. “If I were going to meet someone new and fall in love, or whatever, I could do that in Lyon just as well as Marseille. When it comes to sex, the possibilities are the same. As far as I’m concerned the only difference between the people I could fuck in Lyon and the ones I’ll probably fuck in Marseille is that the latter will have better tans. Don’t think I’m coming down here because I want to leave you. You know me well enough to know that, if that were the case, I would have no problem telling you. Do you know what I think?”  
“I’m sure I’ll get to hear it regardless.”  
“I think you’re afraid of the freedom you’ll have when I’m gone. You can find someone else, and I won’t have to know, and you won’t have to feel guilty. Of course, then you won’t get to play the longsuffering saint either. You’ll be getting your pleasure from less exalted sources, just like me.”  
Sixsmith had replied that this was nonsense, and the conversation had devolved to the point where Robert refused to speak at all and just gazed out the window for the rest of the drive. Some civility had returned when they were unpacking the boxes and setting up the furniture, but when the time came to say goodbye, Sixsmith had said, “Keep in touch and let me know how you’re doing from time to time, but I need to think some things through, and I think I would rather not see you for a while.” Robert’s agreement had sounded casual enough, but even then Sixsmith had been able to see the hurt in his eyes.  
The more Sixsmith considers the past, the more he wonders if it hadn’t been himself, not Robert, who was selfish and cruel. Not only that, but Robert had been right. He had found someone new, but the more he thinks about his husband spending Christmas alone, and that much worse scenarios were possible, the more impossible he finds the idea of the plans he’s making with Pierre. Sixsmith reaches for his phone again.  
“Hello Pierre. Listen, I’m so very sorry about this but I have to cancel our plans this evening. Yes, I’m afraid so. I have to drive down to Marseille and find my husband.”


	2. Chapter 2

Pierre had been angrier than Sixsmith expected. He had tried to convince him that Robert was a grown man and capable of taking care of himself, that if he wanted Sixsmith’s help there was nothing to stop him from asking for it, and why was Sixsmith more upset about his estranged husband spending Christmas Eve alone than in his new lover putting so much effort into pleasing him and still spending Christmas alone?  
Sixsmith had cut him off rather abruptly, citing the traffic and the fact that he could not fight and drive at the same time. He had promised to call again when he arrived, but Pierre hung up on him.

He quickly decides that the drive from Lyon to Marseille is the most stressful he has ever made, and not because of the traffic. When he drove down with Robert, all he could think about was his anger at his husband, so much so that he felt an intense sense of relief all the way home. Now, all he could think of was what kind of trouble Robert could have gotten himself into. Would he be able to find the right hospital? How many hospitals were there in Marseille? Would he still be listed as Robert’s emergency contact? Are newly hired composers even asked for emergency contacts? By the time he arrives at the house, he is very near distraction imagining himself phoning all of the morgues and inquiring whether any Englishmen had washed in from the sea.

He rings the doorbell, and waits what seem like long minutes until the doorknob turns and the door opens to reveal a wet-haired, bewildered looking Robert Frobisher.  
“Sixsmith! What are you doing here? Did someone die?”  
Sixsmith is so relieved that he has to fight the urge to pull Robert into a hug. He makes a quick decision to hide his relief until he can get a better read on his husband’s feelings: “Well, Robert that’s actually what I came down here to find out. Sebastian said he couldn’t get you on the phone, and when I called and you didn’t pick up, I didn’t know what could have become of you. Are you alright?”  
Robert blinks with confusion for a minute before answering. “I’m fine, Sixsmith. Did you really drive all this way just to make sure I’m still alive?”  
“Yes, and now that I’ve ascertained that, shall I drive back to Lyon, or are you going to invite me in?”  
Robert stands back from the door and smiles broadly, making a sweeping motion towards the entrance with his hand. As soon as Sixsmith walks into the living room, he turns and holds out his phone. “You should call your brother.”  
The smile drops from Robert’s face, and he nearly stammers and he answers. “Well, there’s no need to rush. I’ll make us some coffee and you can unpack. Did you bring a bag? “  
“Sebastian certainly wasn’t relaxed when he called me, begging for information about you.”  
Robert takes a deep breath. “You know, a call to Sebby is no simple matter. He’ll want to know why I’m not in Cambridge, and he’ll scold me for putting you to the trouble of coming to find me. You know how he adores you.”  
“Well, he has no one but himself to blame for that. Until he called in hysterics, I wasn’t worried about you at all.” As soon as he says it, Sixsmith feels guilty again.  
“How flattering, Sixsmith! I’m moved.”  
Sixsmith sighs and sits down in one of Robert’s upholstered chairs. Robert sits on a nearby sofa. When Sixsmith speaks again, his tone is cautious. “I certainly made up for lost time with all the worrying I’ve done since this morning, but I didn’t come to fight with you. I don’t mean to impose, and now that I see you’re okay I assume you must have some plans for tonight.”  
As if to reassure Sixsmith, Robert keeps his voice bright and casual. “Not really. I’m going to a café for the réveillon after midnight mass. It was going to be a rather sad Christmas, really. I’m glad you’re here; would you like to come?”  
“That sounds fine. I was actually planning to go to a réveillon myself with – ”  
“With? That’s intriguing.” Robert smiles.  
“You go call your brother and I’ll get settled in.”

When Robert retreats to the bedroom with his phone, Sixsmith realizes how hungry he is. He hasn’t eaten since before he called Pierre that morning, being too worried about his husband to stop on the road. He enters Robert’s kitchen and is reminded of the first time he looked at his kitchen in Cambridge. It struck him as particularly orderly for someone who was so disorganized in every other facet of his life. He soon realized that was because Robert never used his kitchens. The plates, bowls, and glasses in the cabinets appear to be untouched. Indeed, only the coffee cups appear to have been used since he and Robert unpacked them. When Sixsmith opens the pantry, he has to suppress a delirious giggle. It contains a large, half-full bottle of Courvoisier, a bag of ground coffee, and another bag labeled “chickpea flour.” If it were anyone else’s kitchen, the last item would have struck Sixsmith as odd, but Robert always seemed to keep food items that were even more inexplicable than the absence of more commonplace ones like snacks, bread, and milk. The milk Sixsmith finds in the refrigerator is so far past its expiration date that it could pass for poorly processed cheese, and is accompanied only by Robert’s collection of hot sauces. Apparently, he finds the takeaway here as under-seasoned as in Cambridge, if he even bothers to taste it before “correcting” it.  
Having looked through all the storage space without finding so much as a biscuit, Sixsmith sets himself to washing all the mugs and the coffee press in the sink and setting the kettle on to boil. When Robert still hasn’t returned, he uses a clean dish towel to wipe down the kitchen, which is a bit grimy despite its lack of use. When the coffee is ready, almost on cue, Robert walks in. Sixsmith starts to speak, but then notices that Robert’s eyes are red and he’s sniffling.

“Don’t you start on me too, Sixsmith. I don’t think I can handle any more emotions.”  
Sixsmith walks past Robert to the pantry and takes out the bottle of cognac. After setting it next to the press, he goes to Robert and wraps his arms around him, nestling his chin on top of his head.  
“I’m sorry that I’ve been neglecting you. I should’ve kept in better touch with you myself instead of needing Sebastian to send me down here. I hope he wasn’t too tough on you.”  
Robert wraps his arms tightly around Sixsmith’s waist for a minute, then sniffs and pulls away.  
“You know Sebby,” he says, measuring out a finger of cognac into each of the mugs Sixsmith has placed on the counter and topping them off with coffee. “If I look this bad, can you imagine what he looks like? He’ll have to lie down until Christmas morning.”  
“Was it really that bad?”  
“Well, we had a lot to say to each other, as you can imagine, after all that time. He didn’t understand why I was avoiding him. I reminded him of last year when he spent the whole of Christmas criticizing my . . . “Robert pauses apprehensively. “Choices,” he concludes.  
“Well, you may remember that I did the same.”  
“Yes, but you’re about to be in my living room drinking coffee with me, so I didn’t want to bring that up. Anyway, I told him I didn’t want to ruin Christmas two years in a row. He started crying, and as you know I can never seem to let him do that alone. He apologized for judging me and driving me away, and said he loves me no matter what. I’m sure there are stipulations, but he didn’t trouble himself to name any. Still, he managed to get a promise to come up for New Year’s out of me. So don’t feel too badly for him; he still managed to get everything he wanted.”  
“You know that’s next week, right?”  
Robert glowers into his mug. “Bugger. Will you still be here then?”  
“Robert, I didn’t even know if I’d be spending tonight here. I need some time to consider a week.”  
“Did you think you’d be trawling the sea for me?”  
“Something like that.”  
“Now, don’t be maudlin, Sixsmith.”

Sixsmith focuses intently on drinking his coffee for a few minutes. Finally, he asks, “So, you haven’t been depressed since you’ve been here?”  
Robert shrugs. “I wouldn’t say I haven’t at all, but it’s been a while. I had a hard time when I first moved here and didn’t know anyone and,” he pauses again, “then I started going to studio parties and meeting people and eventually made friends with some of them. Of course, staying busy with work has helped too. I’m finishing one score now and I’ll start a new one in January, so I’m faring pretty well.”  
They continue on like this, talking about their respective jobs and projects over the past year. Sixsmith doesn’t mention Pierre, and Robert doesn’t disclose whether he has any lovers. The closest he comes is when Sixsmith asks him to explain the chickpea flour in his pantry. “Well, that, Sixsmith, is a long story that I’m sure you don’t want to hear. There’s a perfectly logical explanation; at least it seemed at the time.”  
Searching for a way to change the subject, Robert looks at the clock hanging behind Sixsmith’s head. “Oh fuck, look at the time. How long have we been chatting? If we don’t hurry up we’ll be late for the réveillon.”  
“Oh, that’s right.”  
“If you don’t mind”  
“We didn’t go to mass.”  
“I wouldn’t subject you to that, Sixsmith. Besides, Julien couldn’t be arsed about our religious practices. He just wants us to come and eat all the food Georges has been preparing for the last three days.”  
“Who are Julien and Georges?”  
“They’re the maître d’ and chef at the café where I eat. Julien has made me promise every day for the past week that I would come.”  
“Every day?” Sixsmith raises his eyebrows skeptically.  
“Yes, Sixsmith. I eat every day now; you would be proud. And you must be hungry after all your fretting, aren’t you?”  
“I’m starving.”  
“Well then, let’s go.”

The walk to the café is a short one as Robert said it would be, but it still seems to Sixsmith that it takes ages. His stomach is growling so loudly he’s sure that Robert can hear it, but if he does he keeps it to himself. When they arrive at the café, the maître ‘d greets Robert and apologizes that his regular table is already occupied. Robert introduces Sixsmith as his husband and Julien welcomes him warmly. About half of the small tables are already full of families and groups of friends chatting animatedly in French about the earlier midnight mass and plans for the upcoming day. When the waiter brings out the soup course, a refined bouillabaisse filled with mussels, sliced squid, several kinds of fish, and petit shrimp, with crusty bread and rouille, Sixsmith is convinced he has never tasted anything more delicious. He eats with such relish and haste that it takes a few minutes for him to realize that Robert is giggling at him.   
“What?” Sixsmith asks.  
“You’re drawing attention to yourself.”  
Sixsmith looks around and notices that several of the surrounding patrons are staring at him. Being caught, they tactfully look away and continue with their dinners. He notices that not only are they maintaining conversations and sipping wine between bites, but they have neatly arranged their mussel shells around the edges of their bowls. Sixsmith looks at his own wine glass, which is still full of the pale yellow liquid the waiter poured shortly after they sat down, and his bowl and plate, both of which are strewn with mussel shells. Some of the shells have even fallen onto the table cloth.  
“Frankly, I’m surprised you didn’t eat those too, as quickly as you devoured everything else,” Robert says, and Sixsmith realizes that he has not spoken to him since before the soup arrived.  
“I’m sorry, Robert. I’m a barbarian. Am I embarrassing you?”  
“Of course not. I’m sure everyone here thought they were only coming to a feast. They never dreamed there would be live entertainment as well!”  
When the main course, roast duck with oyster stuffing, arrives, Sixsmith concentrates on eating in a more conscientious manner. He still gets the occasional glance, but the other patrons are for the most part completely absorbed in the events at their own tables. When the waiter brings the cheese plate, Robert surprises Sixsmith by quickly and efficiently ordering for both of them. At first, he assumes this is a jab at his proficiency in his second language, which Robert had grasped much more quickly.  
“You know that I lecture to more than three hundred students in French every week, right Robert? I think I can make myself understood fairly well.”  
“And I’m sure they’re very patient with you. I just ordered some of my favorites and a wine that goes nicely with them.”  
“You what?” Sixsmith asks, genuinely shocked. “Robert, you barely feed yourself. How did you become and cheese and wine expert?”  
“Well, um, you know. You just pick up little bits here and there and, well, I have . . . connections, I suppose.”  
“Connections?”  
“Oh look, Sixsmith, our wine is here!”

While Sixsmith has never been much of a wine drinker, he has to concur that Robert’s choice pairs deliciously with all of the cheeses, from the creamy brie to the sharp blue. By the time, they finish the delectable bûche de Noël for dessert, Sixsmith is thoroughly satisfied without being overstuffed. As he and Robert are getting up to leave, Julien approaches with a large bag containing several small parcels. From his quick conversation with Robert, Sixsmith can discern that Georges has insisted on giving away the leftovers from the feast and the café’s offerings from earlier in the day, and that Julien is gently scolding Robert, who has clearly not been providing his husband with enough food or teaching him to eat it properly. Robert laughs and they both thank Julien and take their leave.  
Sixsmith finds the walk back to Robert’s house much shorter and more relaxing. Only now, with the prospect of sleep so close, does he fully realize how tense he has been all day. The stress of trying to calm Sebastian, fighting with Pierre, and working himself into a frenzy about Robert have left him exhausted. Robert senses this, and they are mostly quiet on their way, which allows Sixsmith to reflect on Robert’s behavior since his arrival. He hadn’t been offended by Sixsmith’s concern, or even indignant at being ordered around by someone whom he hadn’t seen in almost a year. In fact, he’d seemed perfectly willing to forget the coolness that had existed between them over the past eleven months. 

Not that Sixsmith is really surprised by that. Robert is blunt and can occasionally be cruel, but there is nothing unforgiving in his nature. Or suspicious. If Robert has guessed about Pierre, and Sixsmith would not be at all surprised if he has, he doesn’t seem to care, which leaves Sixsmith both relieved and apprehensive. What will Robert expect of him during this visit? Although he hasn’t lived with his husband for over two years, all of his previous visits had included a lot of sex. Of course, Sixsmith hadn’t had a boyfriend during any of these. The fact that Robert has apparently had other lovers since before he started living on his own doesn’t make the current situation any less awkward. Sixsmith is undeniably still attracted to him, but now that poses a problem. If Pierre asks him about that upon his return, there is no way he’ll be able to lie convincingly. His only chance of maintaining any moral credibility with Pierre lies in his at least refusing to have sex with Robert. He doesn’t think this will be an issue tonight. If his occasional stumbles in the darkness are any indication, Robert is as tired as he is.

“Steady there,” he says, taking hold of Robert’s arm gently as he takes a rather bad trip. Robert wraps his arm rather tightly around Sixsmith’s middle. “There, that’s much better,” Robert says. “Only make sure you don’t fall down. You’ll squash me flat.”   
Sixsmith chuckles and wraps his arm around Robert’s shoulders as they continue on. When they arrive back at the flat, Sixsmith announces that he is going to get ready for bed while Robert puts the food away, thinking that if he works fast he can be under the covers facing the wall when Robert gets undressed. He had quickly deduced that Robert does not have a guest bed or a couch that could contain his long legs. He brushes and flosses his teeth and changes from trousers into pajama pants. When he pulls off his shirt though, he is startled by a loud wolf whistle coming from behind him. He turns around with a jerk to see Robert leaning against the doorway.  
“Well that didn’t take very long.”  
“No doubt you’ve seen the inside of my fridge, Sixsmith. All I did was shove it all in; there was no lack of room. This is the first time it’s been full since I moved in, thanks to your charming display tonight.”  
“So you don’t even know what’s in all those boxes?”  
“No idea, Sixsmith. I was much more interested in what was waiting for me in here, and I was right. I don’t usually see such a nice view in my bathroom mirror.”  
“Oh stop it, Robert. I guess it will be a nice surprise for breakfast tomorrow.”  
“You always have the wrong priorities,” Robert replies, frowning as Sixsmith slips on a t-shirt.  
He climbs under the covers and turns off the bedside lamp as he listens to the sounds of Robert following the same routine as himself, minus the pajamas, of course. Although he made sure to leave plenty of room on the other side of the bed, he soon senses Robert standing next to him.  
“Thanks for warming up my spot, love, but I’m ready to get in it now.”

Sixsmith slides over to make room for Robert, who lies down next to him and leans in to give him a soft kiss on the lips. Instead of pressing for more, as Sixsmith fears he will, he wraps his arm around Sixsmith’s waist and lays his head on his shoulder. Sixsmith starts to return Robert’s embrace, but can’t stop himself from placing his hand on his ribcage. He knows he doesn’t love being touched there, but he is curious about the effect that eating so little has had on his body. He can feel each of Robert’s ribs distinctly, but they don’t seem to be protruding more than normally. He brushes his fingers over his ribs and down his spine.   
“Is this just a routine examination, Dr. Sixsmith?” Robert asks with a yawn.  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you awake. I was just . . .”  
“Making sure I’m not malnourished?”  
“I suppose that’s it.”  
“You remember you married a skinny bloke, right Sixsmith?”  
“I know. I just want to make sure you’re staying healthy.”  
Robert kisses him again. “You know, I’ve survived this long without your nurturing, not that I don’t appreciate it.”  
“Goodnight, Robert.”  
“Goodnight, baby.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fourth and final chapter should be up soon!

At first, Robert thought having Sixsmith in his bed again would be a nice change. His new lovers rarely stay to sleep with him; they have either partners or jobs waiting for them. He’s also been missing the warm comfort of his husband’s body, as he always did when the weather turned cooler. Tonight, though, Sixsmith is still tense even in sleep—or pretense at sleep—tossing his head so hard that his chin collides with Robert’s forehead on his shoulder.  
“Easy, Sixsmith.”  
“M-sorry.”  
“Why don’t you try lying on your side?”

Sixsmith rolls over and Robert moves in to spoon him, wrapping his arm around his chest underneath his arm and smiling against the back of his neck. He remembers that they used to sleep like this when they first got together. The first time Sixsmith had tried to reverse this position, while Robert was asleep, he had elbowed him in the ribs so hard they had been bruised for a week and Sixsmith was convinced one was cracked. After that, it took a lot of coaxing to get him to switch, but when they did Robert learned that it was much warmer and more comfortable to be in Sixsmith’s arms than to press his body against the back of someone so much larger than himself. However, Sixsmith seems to still enjoy being the “smaller” spoon, because his breath soon evens out, and he relaxes completely for the first time since his arrival. Robert is less sleepy, and as he lies awake, he speculates about why Sixsmith has been so fidgety and vague about the details of his personal life. He’s learned from experience not to bring up the topic of his own lovers. It upsets Sixsmith, and that makes Robert feel guilty even though the fact of his relationships does not. However, he suspects that his husband’s silence on this trip can only mean one thing: that he has a lover of his own, and he’s ashamed. Robert finds himself terribly curious about who this man could be. He’s always thought Sixsmith should find someone, if only for regular sex, especially now that Robert is so far away, but bringing that up had been even worse than bringing up his own lovers. Just before he falls asleep, Robert decides that he will find out the truth when Sixsmith wakes up.

It turns out that he has to wait much longer than he anticipated. He wakes up late the next morning to find Sixsmith still fast asleep on his side. Robert is uncertain how he should proceed; it has been a very long time since he’s had to wake anyone up. When they were living together, Sixsmith had always gotten up and fixed coffee before Robert was awake; indeed, he found the most difficult part of living on his own had been making his own coffee in the morning. Robert tries to go back to sleep, but before long he is so fidgety that he has to get up, get dressed, and make his way to the kitchen. While waiting for the kettle to boil for the coffee, he opens the refrigerator and takes out the packages Julien gave him the night before. To Robert’s delight, they contain some of his favorite sweets: two of the chocolate mini-tarts on which he occasionally splurges, a box of plain croissants, a box of chocolate ones, and a box full of speculoos. Georges also included a couple of slightly imperfect baguettes; Robert decides to save those for later, though he knows Sixsmith will complain about the richness of the other dishes. 

It takes a few minutes for him to find the small plates in his cabinet; the only dishes he uses with any regularity are the bowls and the coffee cups. When he does find a plate, he fills it with a chocolate tart and one of each kind of croissant. Then, in keeping with the decadence of the meal, he pours a little cognac in Sixsmith’s coffee. He carries the plate and cup into the bedroom to discover that Sixsmith has rolled over and wrapped his arm around Robert’s pillow, but is still asleep. Robert sits the dishes down, hoping the smell of coffee will wake his husband up as it often did for him in time past, and goes back for his own coffee. When he returns, he sits down and picks up the chocolate tart, nibbling on the edge and humming with pleasure over the crumbly shortbread crust and creamy ganache filling. “How can you not appreciate sweets for breakfast, Sixsmith?” he asks his still sleeping husband. 

Robert finally realizes that he’s going to have to wake him himself. Sixsmith had a few techniques for waking him up, one of which stands out as particularly enjoyable, but Robert knows that if Sixsmith were awake he would pronounce it much too early for that. So, he just puts his hand on his shoulder and says his name. Sixsmith’s eyes flutter open and he frowns with confusion when they settle on Robert. “Robert? Where are we?”  
“This is Heaven, Sixsmith. What, are you surprised to see me here?”  
“Oh, come off it,” Sixsmith mumbles, sitting up and stretching his back.  
“We’re in my bedroom in Marseille. You drove all the way from Lyon on Christmas Eve because you and Sebby thought I was dead.”  
“Oh, right. I remember now. What time is it? Where’s your alarm clock?”  
“You know I hate those nasty buggers, Sixsmith. It’s time for you to drink this coffee and have a bit of this tart.”  
Robert holds the pastry up to Sixsmith’s mouth and waits for him take a bite. Sixsmith raises his eyebrow, but complies.  
“Oh god, that’s sweet.” He grimaces. “Where did that come from?”  
“From one of the boxes you were so curious about last night. Georges was very good to us; he packed us lots of breakfast pastries.”  
“If that’s your idea of a breakfast pastry I can’t wait to try the coffee.”  
Robert hands him his cup and Sixsmith sniffs it cautiously  
“Liquor in the morning, Robert?”  
“Well we’re out of milk, and who says it’s still morning?”  
“It is at least still Christmas Day, isn’t it?”  
“It is indeed, Sixsmith.”  
“I’m afraid I didn’t bring you a present.”  
“You what? You didn’t get me a Christmas present? Get out of my house, you cheap git!”  
Sixsmith giggles and takes a sip of his coffee.  
“I didn’t get you anything either, given the circumstances, but I’m sure I can compensate in some way.”  
“But you’ve brought me a lovely breakfast in bed, full of sugar and alcohol as it is.”  
Sixsmith gives Robert a kiss and stands up. “I’m going to take a shower. You finish your breakfast tart.”  
“Hey, it’s a bit early for the insults, Sixsmith!”  
Sixsmith rolls his eyes, but grins as he opens his bag to take out his shampoo.  
“Are you sure you don’t want company? That’s a lot of back to wash by yourself.”  
“I’ll manage.”

When Sixsmith emerges from the shower he discovers not only that Robert has left the bedroom but that he has taken the pillows and most of the covers with him. He enters the living room to find the pillows, plus several more, on the floor arranged in a neat pile underneath the covers.  
“What’s all this?”  
“I’ve made you a giant’s nest, Sixsmith. I know you wouldn’t be comfortable on the couch; where would you put your legs? This way you can spread out without crushing me or dumping me on the floor.”  
“I’m sure you’d be able to defend yourself, Robert.”  
“Yeah, but if I elbow you in the ribs again you’ll probably go home, and I’m not ready to lose you yet.”  
Sixsmith sits down tentatively next to Robert, settling down and pressing his back against the couch when he discovers that the “nest” is more comfortable and stable than he’d thought. He picks up his coffee from the tray Robert has sat between them and is halfway through the plain croissant when Robert asks him, “So, Sixsmith, do you have a lover in Lyon?”  
Sixsmith coughs so violently when the crumbs get caught in his throat that Robert begins patting him hard on his lower back.  
“There now. It’s nothing for you to make yourself sick over, just because you have a boyfriend.”  
“What makes you think that?” Sixsmith croaks.  
“You’ve just been so fidgety and guilty since you got here. I don’t know what else could make you behave like this unless . . . you haven’t murdered a student, have you?”  
This eases some of the tension and Sixsmith smiles. “Does that sound like something I would do?”  
“Not at all. That’s what I would do if I were still giving piano lessons to those hopeless brats in Cambridge. So, I’m right? You’ve met someone?”  
“Yes.”  
“You know I’m not going to judge you, right? I just thought you’d feel easier if you knew that I know. Is he nice to you?”  
Sixsmith sighs. “Yes, he’s very nice. He’s a teaching assistant at the university, but I didn’t meet him until after you moved out. He knows we’re married, and he and I just started seeing each other a few months ago, long after you moved down here and . . .”  
“I’m not jealous, Sixsmith. You know you don’t have to explain unless you want to.”  
“I know you don’t mind, but I feel bad. Pierre is – I don’t know – idealistic. He’s only 24.”  
“Well, now I feel old.”  
“But that’s not the point. I don’t prefer him, but he’s there. And he should be with someone who’s unattached, and he’s with me because he thinks you’re out of the picture and seeing other people.”  
“He’s not wrong there.”  
“And he feels sorry for me.”  
“Then that makes two of you, doesn’t it? Oh, come on, don’t look at me like that, Sixsmith. A pity fuck happens one time, by the way. By the time you’ve fucked thirty times –”  
“It hasn’t been thirty.”  
“Ah ah, don’t lie, Sixsmith. After that much sex, I think he probably likes you. Your plans to go to the réveillon last night: were those with him?”  
“Yes.”  
“And how does he feel about you blowing him off to come and visit your old husband?”  
“He’s really upset.”  
“Uh oh.”  
“I don’t know why he’s so surprised though. I thought you might be in some kind of trouble, so of course I had to make sure you were alright. I married you, after all.”  
Robert is quiet for a minute. “Is it possible that you’ve misled this poor child into thinking that you care less about me than you actually do? Because that happens, sometimes, when people think they can only be attracted to one person at a time.”  
“It certainly doesn’t make anything easier.”  
“God, no. I’m attracted to all kinds of people all the time, but that doesn’t mean I love you any less.”  
“You still love me? Even though I’ve ignored you all year?”  
“Of course, you idiot. I didn’t know you were ignoring me. I thought you were busy. Clearly I was right! But I’m not so fickle that I’m going to forget about you just because I don’t see you all the time.”  
“I still feel bad. About everything.”  
“I know you do, baby. You always do. Now, what are we going to watch?”

Sixsmith gets up to rifle through Robert’s DVD collection until they settle on a film produced by the same studio that is funding his current score. He puts it in the player and turns around to see that Robert has rearranged the pillows to make himself higher and has taken his place in front of the sofa. Seeing his confused expression, Robert beckons for him to sit down again, this time much closer than he had been before.  
“It’s alright, you can just lay your back against me, okay?”  
Sixsmith lowers himself to the floor and does as he’s told.  
“You’re sure I’m not too heavy?”  
“You’re not going to break me, Sixsmith. Now hush before we miss the opening credits. It’s the only part of the score that isn’t rubbish.”  
In spite of his instructions to Sixsmith, Robert does not hush but continues to talk throughout the beginning of the film, explaining every questionable decision the composer made and why the music does not fit the action in terms that make no sense to Sixsmith. He is so lost in the sensation of being surrounded by Robert, the smooth tones of his voice and the gentle press of his arms around Sixsmith’s waist, that he doesn’t care. Soon, Robert begins to show less interest in the film than in touching his husband. He nuzzles his ear and lifts one hand to gently stroke up and down the nape of his neck, causing Sixsmith to close his eyes and sigh with pleasure. When Robert lowers his other hand to Sixsmith’s belly and begins to brush his thumb over the dip where the cotton covers his navel, Sixsmith feels his cock begin to swell in his trousers.  
“That feels good,” he whispers as Robert buries his fingers in his hair. “Are you trying to seduce me?”  
“I’m just happy you’re here, Sixsmith. I’ve missed you. And, yes, I am. Is it working?”  
“A little too well. But I don’t think it’s a good idea.”  
“Why not?”  
“It doesn’t seem right. Pierre is angry enough with me as it is.”  
“Well, he knows you’re with me, right? Don’t you think he’ll assume I’ve befouled your virtue whether we do anything or not?”  
“It’s just that it took me so long to convince myself I wasn’t cheating on you with him . . . “  
“And now you think you’d be cheating on him with me? God, monogamy is stupid.”  
“Maybe so, but that doesn’t change how I feel.”  
“I know. I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want.”  
“Thank you. Feel free to keep rubbing my neck, though. I was enjoying that.”  
Of course,” Robert replies, continuing his ministrations. Once Sixsmith is relaxed again, he asks, “So, do you have any burning questions to ask me?”  
“I have been a little curious about why all of your lovers have abandoned you on Christmas Day.”  
Robert hesitates. “Are you really just curious? You aren’t trying to pick a fight?”  
“Nope, pure, idle curiosity.”  
“They haven’t abandoned me. We never made plans in the first place. I’m not the top person on any of their lists any more than they are on mine. Camille has her children for the holidays, so she’s spending the day with them. Paulette is with her family in Paris. Pascal has been spending more time with his wife; I think she must be about nine months pregnant. I may not be seeing him anymore.”  
“Good lord, Robert. Are any of these people single?”  
“Camille and Paulette are definitely single, and eager to remain that way. Pascal is very much in love with his wife, and she know that he has affairs. When she’s pregnant she’s quite pleased about then, so he tells me.”  
“Why do you think you won’t be seeing him anymore?”  
“Because he gets so caught up in taking care of the new baby that he doesn’t have time for lovers. He says he’s had three affairs and three children since he’s been married, and each time the latter put an end to the first. I’ll miss him; he taught me everything I know about cheese.”  
“That was his main attraction, was it?”  
“No, I’m not a cheese whore, Sixsmith, but it was definitely a perk. All of my lovers come with perks besides sex, actually. Camille is a film director, so we can trade gossip. Paulette is also new to Marseille, so we do a lot of exploring together. She introduced me to Julien and Georges. And, of course, Pascal is a cheese expert. In fact, I still have some of the last cheese he brought me.”  
“I didn’t see it in the fridge yesterday.”  
“That’s because it’s in a special cooler that you probably didn’t see. Let me up and I’ll get it.”

Robert returns from the kitchen a few minutes later having reloaded the breakfast tray with a sliced baguette, a substantial wedge of young Cantal, a bottle of Bordeaux, and two glasses. For the next few hours, they eat cheese, drink wine, and watch more films, with Robert giving a running commentary on the scores of each.

About halfway through the third film, Sixsmith announces that he is ready for bed. He isn’t tired so much as ready for a change in position; also, it’s becoming increasingly difficult for him to resist returning, let alone encouraging, Robert’s touches. Robert heads off to the shower while Sixsmith returns the components of the “nest” to their proper places and prepares his belongings for his departure the next morning. He knows it is very unlikely he’ll be able to resist Robert for another night, even if he can manage it on this one. Once he has everything organized, he strips off his clothes, but finds that putting on his pajamas is the last thing he wants to do. So when Robert emerges from the bathroom, clad only in a towel, he finds Sixsmith lying in the middle of his bed in just his vest and pants  
“Now that’s just cruel, Sixsmith.”  
“What are you talking about?”  
“I can handle your hiding under the covers and pretending to be asleep, but all this skin is just too much temptation. That’s it; I’m sleeping on the couch. Goodnight!” He walks towards the door.  
“Robert, come back,” Sixsmith cries. You’ll freeze on that couch in just your towel.”  
Robert turns and glances up and down Sixsmith’s body hungrily. “I think a little cooling off might be just what I need.”  
Suddenly the idea of having moral credibility seems pretty stupid to Sixsmith. “Why don’t you drop that towel where you are and get over here?”

Robert loses no time in straddling Sixsmith and kisses him with growing pressure until Sixsmith finally has to hold onto the headboard to keep from falling off the bed. Robert pulls Sixsmith’s vest over his head, and Sixsmith allows him to pin his arms against the headboard. Robert leans in to kiss and nibble slowly along the sensitive skin from elbow to armpit, leaving him moaning. Sixsmith tries feebly to pull away, aware of how strongly he must smell there, but Robert is undeterred and his mouth feels too good to resist. He moves down to suck on Sixsmith’s nipple before moving on to the other arm to repeat the same steps. When he bites the other nipple, Sixsmith yelps and pulls out of his grasp. He places his hands on either side of Robert’s head and pulls him in for a deep kiss. Brushing his hands down Robert’s sides, he takes hold of his hips. Robert is so slight that Sixsmith can almost link his fingers behind his back, and his old fear that he will somehow damage his lover in his excitement comes flooding back. However, when he gentles his grip, stroking the fine hair just above Robert’s arse, the smaller man jerks forward, attempting to both rub his hard cock against Sixsmith’s belly and push his arse into his hands at the same time. Sixsmith holds Robert at arms-length and smiles mischievously at his grunts of frustration when he isn’t able to do either.  
“Please, baby.”  
“Please what, love? What do you want?”  
“I want to touch you.”  
“How do you want to touch me?”  
“Oh, come on, Sixsmith! Let’s have some surprises.”  
“What if I want to touch you?”  
“I assume we can do both?”  
“Well I know exactly what I want. I want you to lie on your back with your hands above your head.”  
“Ohh, demanding. I’m liking Pierre more and more.”  
Sixsmith frowns at this. It hadn’t even occurred to him that having another lover would change his sexual style in a recognizable way, but Robert always was more perceptive of human behavior than himself.

Once Robert has done as he was told. Sixsmith takes a moment to enjoy the view before him. Robert is undeniably thin, but well-muscled and healthy, his soft skin starting to shine with sweat and providing a sharp contrast to the dark hair under his arms and around his cock. Holding Robert’s wrists together in his hand, he leans down to kiss the undersides of Robert’s arms as he had just done to him, but instead of moaning Robert giggles and brings his elbows together defensively.  
“Steady, Robert. You’ll gouge my eyes out with those things, and then I won’t be able to do this.”  
He dips his head and flicks the tip of his tongue over Robert’s nipple, drawing a gasp. He leaves a trail of kisses across his chest, but when he reaches his other nipple he gently blows on it instead of touching. Even that makes it harden instantly. Sixsmith is always amazed at how much pleasure he can give Robert just by playing with these tiny nubs. He suckles one between his lips and rolls the other between his thumb and forefinger as Robert moans loudly and writhes.  
“Do you like that, love?”  
“What do you think? Let me show you how much,” he replies as he takes hold of Sixsmith’s wrist with his now free hand. A few seconds later, Sixsmith feels Robert’s cock twitch against his palm, his fingers dampening with the precome leaking from his slit. His own erection throbs in response, and he pulls off his pants to wrap his hand around it. Pressing his body against Robert’s, he lets go just long enough to grasp both of their cocks, rubbing them against each other. Sixsmith groans; Robert’s cock is smaller than his, but just long enough for its glans to brush deliciously against Sixsmith’s frenulum on each stroke. When pleasure makes his movements too erratic, Robert places his hand over Sixsmith’s and asks to get on top. When Sixsmith rolls onto his back, however, Robert does not continue the frottage but instead takes the tip of Sixsmith’s cock into his mouth. He clutches the sheets and whimpers as Robert bobs his head up and down, taking a little more into his mouth with each descent and wrapping his hand around the base of his shaft. “Oh god, Robert, I’m so close,” he gasps.

To his surprise, Robert removes his cock from his mouth completely, but before he can protest Robert lowers his face between Sixsmith’s thighs and begins licking his balls. “Fuck, Robert, oh, oh!” Sixsmith cries, bucking his hips and thrusting into Robert’s hand as the licking continues. When Robert takes one of his testicles into his mouth. Sixsmith stiffens and comes hard, splattering his chest and belly. As soon as he stops shuddering and flops bonelessly back onto the bed, Robert climbs on top of him and grinds his cock frantically against Sixsmith’s slick abdomen. When he’s recovered enough from his orgasm to move, Sixsmith covers Robert’s arse with his hands and brushes his fingers over his tailbone and down between his cheeks, slippery with sweat, to press against his arsehole. “Oh,” Robert moans. “Right there, yes.” A few minutes later he comes and covers his own front as well as Sixsmith’s when he climbs up his body to give him a deep, sleepy kiss.  
“Was that good, Sixsmith?”  
“It was amazing, Robert. But I think we’re going to have to change the sheets.”  
“You might find that difficult as I have no intention of moving,” Robert says as he rolls onto his back.  
“I’m pretty sure I can still pick you up.”  
Robert chuckles. “You do that, and put me in the bath. For some reason I seem to be all sweaty and sticky.”

Robert stands and allows Sixsmith to guide him into the shower and step in with him. There is only room for one of them under the spray, so Sixsmith pushes Robert forward, pours himself a handful of liquid soap and, working it into a lather, massages it over Robert’s body. Robert relaxes so completely that Sixsmith fears he will have to carry him out of the shower, but he soon steps out on his own, telling Sixsmith he is going to fetch another towel. Sixsmith quickly cleans himself, and gets out of the shower to be surprised by a fluffy towel flying over his head.  
“What are you doing Robert?”  
“I thought it would take less time to dry you from the top down. Just hold still.”  
At first, the process is a bit awkward. Robert stretches up on tiptoes to pat the towel underneath Sixsmith’s arms and scrubs a little too forcefully at the back of his neck and between his shoulder blades. However, it becomes quite soothing when Robert dries the parts of Sixsmith that he can reach more easily—his chest, lower back, and thighs. After he finishes drying the tops of Sixsmith’s feet, Robert looks up admiringly.  
“You’re gorgeous like this: all clean and pink. No pajamas tonight. I want to enjoy this for as long as I can.”  
Sixsmith follows Robert into the bedroom. Once Robert is in bed, he takes Sixsmith’s hand and pulls him in behind him, wrapping Sixsmith’s arm around his waist. After he turns off the light, he snuggles back into his husband’s arms.  
“You’re leaving in the morning, aren’t you?”  
“Yes.”  
“I wish you could stay longer.”  
“I know. I do too. But I have to sort things out when I get home.”  
“Be nice to Pierre, Sixsmith. He didn’t ask for any of this.”  
“I know. Goodnight, Robert. I love you.”  
“I love you too, baby.”


	4. Chapter 4

When Sixsmith wakes the next morning, he is momentarily surprised to discover that Robert is almost entirely underneath him. For the past year, Sixsmith has slept either alone or with Pierre, who prefers to sleep mostly untouched. Robert, however, was so cold-natured when they were living together that Sixsmith often felt like a man-shaped heat pad. He is grateful that Robert at least slept peacefully last night instead of pushing and pulling him into place. Sixsmith gets out of bed quickly, pulling the covers up over Robert’s head before the cool air of the room can awaken him. After getting dressed, he goes into the kitchen to put the kettle on for coffee and helps himself to the last of the croissants from Julien’s Christmas present. As he eats, he tries to process what has taken place over the past couple of days. While he didn’t expect any of this to happen, spending this time with Robert has shown him that Robert still loves him and, more disruptively, that he is still in love with Robert. While that may make him happy now, that will change when he gets back to Lyon, where he has only his work, a few friendly colleagues, and Pierre. Up until now, he and Pierre had never had a fight. He’s not sure if their fledgling relationship can survive it, or even if he wants it to. He feels a momentary twinge of jealousy for Robert; why is it so easy for him to have so many lovers here and yet make Sixsmith feel as though no time has passed since they lived together? He can’t answer that question, so he decides instead to see if Robert is awake. Maybe he has the answer.

When he returns to the bedroom, he finds that Robert is still asleep. Of course. Sixsmith takes this opportunity to brush his teeth and pack up the few belongings that remain in the bedroom and bathroom; he knows that Robert will try to persuade him to stay longer, and he’ll feel less tempted if he’s completely packed. Having put away everything except the clothes he’s wearing, Sixsmith turns his attention to Robert, who is lying with his head on the pillow, having moved just enough during the night to make his thick hair stand up in every direction. Sixsmith sits down carefully to avoid spilling his coffee and gently buries his fingers in the dark softness. Robert smiles at the pressure on his scalp, but doesn’t open his eyes. Sixsmith strongly suspects that he’s awake, but waiting to see how far Sixsmith will go in waking him before he shows it. He sets his coffee down and slides the hand that is still warm from holding the cup underneath the sheets, pressing it against Robert’s chest. Taking note of Robert’s quickening breath, Sixsmith smiles and reflects on all the times they have played this game before. 

During those first two years in Cambridge, Sixsmith had fallen into the habit of waking Robert up with a combination of freshly brewed coffee and pulling Robert’s heap of covers off his naked body. On the weekends, though, Sixsmith used a different tactic. He learned quickly that Robert almost always woke up hard. Not with the non-committal half-erections that Sixsmith found tenting his own pajama bottoms, which went away promptly if ignored, but with a full arousal as insistent and eager as ever. It was no surprise to Sixsmith that Robert often began the day with a shower, even before drinking any of the coffee he’d made. At the time, Sixsmith had been uneasy at the prospect of oral sex. He certainly enjoyed receiving it, and he was quite drawn to the idea of reciprocating, but the pressure of Robert staring down at him expectantly was too great for him to really enjoy it. One morning, though, after conducting research on several porn sites, Sixsmith had worked up the courage to take Robert into his mouth before waking him. He was worried that his lover would see this as a violation, but Robert had reassured him that he’d enjoyed it so convincingly that he had done it again the next weekend, and the one after that. It got to the point where Robert refused to get out of bed on Saturday until he’d had his morning blowjob.

As Sixsmith slides his had slowly down Robert’s belly, he finds that he is almost as excited as his husband. He teases both of them by stopping at Robert’s navel and brushing his fingers in feather-light strokes up and down the thin trail of hair underneath the sheet that is now barely concealing his erection.  
“You’re killing me, Sixsmith,” says a sleepy voice from the head of the bed.  
“Good morning, Robert.”  
“Not quite, but I think it could be.”  
Sixsmith pulls back the sheet and settles down with his elbows on either side of Robert’s legs. Even untouched, his flushed cock is already twitching against his stomach.  
“Good God, Robert,” Sixsmith says, looking up at his husband with a grin. “Don’t any of your other lovers do this for you?”  
“Not in the morn . . . oh!” He cuts off the last word with a gasp as Sixsmith wraps his lips around the head of his cock.  
Sixsmith gently draws Robert’s foreskin back with his fingers and moves his mouth down the shaft until the tip brushes against the back of his throat. He stops there, his nose pressing into the coarse hair surrounding the base, until Robert whines and begins to thrust. Sixsmith has always been grateful that his husband wasn’t more generously endowed, but never more than now. He responds to Robert’s movements by taking hold of his hips, hollowing his cheeks, and bobbing his head up and down. They quickly settle into a rhythm, which Sixsmith breaks only when his neck and shoulders begin to ache. Then he takes Robert in as deeply as he can and reaches up to brush his thumbs over his nipples and pinch them. “Oh fuck, Sixsmith,” Robert moans and jerks his hips so hard that Sixsmith moves his hands back down to hold him still. Moments later, Robert comes with a soft cry and Sixsmith releases him, licking his cock clean until Robert hisses and pushes his head away.  
Sixsmith lies down with his head next to Robert’s on the pillow, and Robert pulls him into a slow, sensual kiss.

“Mmm. Why would you bother to brush your teeth before sucking me off? Doesn’t that defeat the purpose?”  
“Well, fortunately I’ll be driving back. I won’t need to breathe on anyone.”  
Robert looks down as Sixsmith’s body as if noticing that he’s fully dressed for the first time.  
“Bloody hell, Sixsmith. I almost missed you, didn’t I?”  
“You know I wouldn’t sneak off without saying goodbye.”  
“Mm hmm. I know you can’t resist a gorgeous, hard cock either.”  
“There’s also that.”  
Robert turns onto his side and moves down, placing his head on Sixsmith’s chest.  
“I wish you could stay longer.”  
“I know, love. I do too, but I know that the longer I stay the harder it will be to leave. These last couple of days have been . . .”  
“What, baby?” Robert looks up, trying to read Sixsmith’s expression.  
“Well, it’s like everything is the same when I’m with you. Just like it was when we were living together. But this is just a holiday, and we have completely separate lives now. I think reality will prove especially harsh when I get back.”

Silence falls over them for a few minutes before Robert speaks. “It’s been the same because I still feel the same way about you. I know I can’t be everything you want, but the truth is that I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you, and I don’t think I ever will, and . . .” Robert pauses and bites his lower lip apprehensively. “This past year of our never seeing each other isn’t what I wanted. You could have visited me any time, and I wanted you to so badly. I would’ve visited you too, but I wasn’t sure I’d be welcome. When you said you didn’t want to see me for a while, I didn’t know how long that meant.”

Sixsmith feels his eyes well up with tears. He starts to speak, but then stops, afraid the emotion will show in his voice. He’s cried in front of Robert many times in the past, but he’s never felt comfortable doing so. Finally, he says, “I’m sorry I hurt you, but I wasn’t just angry with you the whole time. I’ll admit I was at first; I thought you were sleeping with other people because you were tired of me, and that you moved down here to try to get away from me.”  
“That wasn’t the reason, though. I even told you that at the time.”  
“I know you did. I’m not saying I was rational; this is just what I thought. But then I started dating Pierre, and he made me happy, but I didn’t want you to know about it. I didn’t want to hear ‘I told you so.’”  
“Ha! I’d never. That’s your line. No, I’m glad you have someone to take care of. I’m just glad I got to have a turn too. I hope I’ll get another one soon.”  
Sixsmith sighs with relief, feeling the knot in his throat begin to loosen. “That’s just the thing, though. I’m not sure if Pierre will want to share. I can’t imagine how you juggle three!”  
“Well, the scheduling is really the most difficult part – ow!” Robert cries as Sixsmith tugs on a lock of his hair. “No, really, the trick is, I make sure they all know exactly how I see our relationships. They know I’m only looking for occasional sex with someone whose company I enjoy. They all know about you. They know that I love you, and that they can never take your place. It helps that most of them love someone else too. Pascal has his wife, of course. Camille has Freddie, the father of her children, whom she usually despises, but I know he means more to her than I ever will.”  
“What about Paulette?”  
“Ahh. Well. I’m actually not sure about her. She could be trouble.”  
“Is she in love with you?”  
“Well, I don’t know Sixsmith. Is Pierre in love with you?”  
“I . . .”  
“Well then, let’s burn that bridge when we get to it, shall we? Now, is that coffee I smell?”

Once he and Robert are sitting in the living room with their mugs, Sixsmith brings up Robert’s upcoming trip.  
“So you’ll be making your way to Cambridge soon?”  
“Unless I can find a way out of it.”  
“What are you so nervous about? Sebastian was so relieved that you’re okay, I’m sure he’ll be pleased just to see you.”  
“That’s probably true, and I have missed him, but it’s not him I’m worried about necessarily. There are the, you know . . . children.” Robert gets the last word out with a grimace, as though finding the taste unpleasant.  
“So, there were children when we were there last Christmas.”  
“Yeah, but they’re bigger now. They’ll be moving around and – oh God – they’ll be trying to talk now. And I’ll have to pretend to understand them!”  
“Honestly, Robert. They’re just kids. They won’t eat you.”  
“Well, not if you come up too and protect me.”  
Sixsmith sighs and makes a grimace of his own. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. We don’t want to get Sebastian’s hopes up too high. Remember how much he wanted us to be together last Christmas.”  
Robert knits his brows in thought. “What will we be going forward? I know Sebby will ask, and I want to be able to tell him something.”  
Sixsmith smiles at this. It’s so like Robert to attribute feelings he’s not quite comfortable with to someone else. “Well, I think you should tell him that I’m seeing someone, whether or not that turns out to be true when I get back or not. At least you won’t be alone in his disapproval anymore. But you should also tell him that you and I plan on seeing a lot more of each other.”  
“Really, Sixsmith?”  
“Of course. It was stupid of me to stay away for so long.”  
Robert gets out of his chair and goes to Sixsmith to sit down on his lap, pulling him into a kiss.  
“I don’t think it was stupid at all. I think you needed some time away from me to have other experiences. But I hope you’ll be more honest about them now. Do you think you can do that?”  
“I think so. I’ll apologize to Pierre, and tell him we can keep seeing each other if he wants to. But you’re my first love, and probably my last.”  
Robert leans in to kiss him again.  
“Exactly, Sixsmith.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading if you've made it this far. As this is my first multi-chapter fic, any constructive feedback would be much appreciated !


End file.
